


Don't know how

by carxies



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, M/M, Not much of a plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 12:13:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6051219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carxies/pseuds/carxies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His friends pitied him but didn't seem to notice the truth behind everything. He felt like an open book his close ones read, trying to overlook the remains of torn out pages, like they weren't missing in the story that he was. Like the letters weren't getting messier and messier, darker and darker, more and more blurry, until they become unreadable. And the spine too thin and weak to hold it all together, just waiting until one wrong move would show how fragile the book really is. He was the novel that others noticed only while being placed next to something beautiful.</p><p>Or, short angst about Kenma and his feelings after Kuroo goes to college.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't know how

Kenma didn't need another perfect line. He didn't need the careful choice of words that his friends were so desperate to use. He was aware of the reality. He didn't need another pitiful look from his teammates.

He appreciated that they tried. He was thankful for the promise that he won't be alone. But not being alone didn't meet not being lonely. Because none of the hugs or gentle pats on the head was from Kuroo.

Nothing much changed, Kenma tried to convince himself. The bell in school still rang at the exact same time. The days and nights still took shifts. Yet his hands felt heavier and colder, even if they were busy as always. His neck was attacked by the cruel wind because no one reminded him to bring a scarf. When his pen ran out of the ink, there wasn't the one person who always brought an extra one just to lend it to him. When he got sick because of forgetting the piece of fabric to cover his neck, he had to search for his own tissues before no one was holding it in front of his face after he sneezed. So much had changed.

His friends pitied him but didn't seem to notice the truth behind everything. He felt like an open book his close ones read, trying to overlook the remains of torn out pages, like they weren't missing in the story that he was. Like the letters weren't getting messier and messier, darker and darker, more and more blurry, until they become unreadable. And the spine too thin and weak to hold it all together, just waiting until one wrong move would show how fragile the book really is. He was the novel that others noticed only while being placed next to something beautiful, just like Kuroo was. But that masterpiece was taken away from him.

Numb limbs carried him and he didn't really tried to stop them, he let his subconscious take over. He was too tired to stop, too tired to fight against his deepest wish. This train wasn't going to take him home, but far away from there. It was going to take him to Kuroo. 

Kenma rubbed the tiny piece of paper that he was given in cold hands. Kuroo wrote his new address and all the details on it in months ago, yet Kenma only read it now. The sight of the little messy handwriting filled him with regret. He disappointed his best friend. When he was waiting for him at the train station in summer heat, Kenma had never come. He had never said his goodbye. He hadn't answered his phone calls ever since then, even after he was told that the tall, dark-haired boy left the city with teary eyes.

Kenma wanted to tell him but he didn't know how. How much he cared for him, how much he missed him, how much he wanted to see him happy. He thought that the best thing would be to let him go, but standing in front of the door that separated him and Kuroo's new life; he didn't want to be only a part of his past. He desired to see him glow and darken, he wanted to witness his best and his worst.

"Kenma?" a soft voice in front of him tore him away from his thoughts.

He was finally facing the problem he was avoiding for months, tall problem with messy black hair. Kuroo didn't look like he changed, yet something was different about him. Maybe it was the way he looked at Kenma, maybe it was the way he reached out shakily. But once he was pulled to the warm embrace, it didn't matter. He let himself to be dragged into a small apartment and listen to quiet sobs. 

He couldn't tell if the tears falling on the top of his head were happy or sad, but he hated them either way, because it was him who caused them. He opened his mouth to speak, but Kuroo was faster.

"What are you doing here? Why you never answered? Why you never came?“  
"I don't know. I don't know how-"  
"How what?“

"I don't know how to be there without you. In school and team."

I don't know how to love you, Kenma thought. But Kuroo didn't deserve this answer.

**Author's Note:**

> "Why you make me suffer ?" -My friend
> 
> Because I only can write this kind of stuff


End file.
